


Teach Me How To Say Goodbye

by grimtart



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: #yayhamlet, Cancer, John Makes Terrible Puns, Lams - Freeform, Laurens Is Worried, M/M, Mentions of Cancer, Sick Character, Sickfic, What Have I Done, Work In Progress, honestly idk where i'm going with this, i am so tired and god, i honestly added lafayette and mulligan because of chapter 4, im crying i really wanted to add that tag, just kind of an idea that hit me while laying in bed, rest in peace
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-22
Updated: 2016-03-28
Packaged: 2018-05-22 14:16:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 16,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6082491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grimtart/pseuds/grimtart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The both of them were sitting up in their bed, their backs against the headboard and their hands connected. Their eyes were elsewhere. God, did John Laurens wish he could say something; he wished he could get a word out that would not scare the other man (whether or not Alexander liked to admit it, he got scared like every other human being did). And, God, did Alexander Hamilton wish that he was able to stop being scared, to stop being sick. He was so tired of the familiar pain in his head, and his newly (though slightly) blurred vision. With every symptom that came up, Alexander felt worse and worse, and he just wished that the medicine had worked in the first place.</p><p>He was frightened.</p><p>(This fic was originally named "You Look So Tired Lately," but that has changed!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

When John Laurens sat down at the kitchen table and looked at the clock, he did not seem too surprised to see that it was already a quarter past ten. The moon was high in the foggy sky of New York City, shining through the window and clashing with the yellow light that flooded the apartment with a pretend sort of contentedness. Alexander was late coming home once again. It left John with a sour feeling in his stomach and a bad taste in his mouth. How long had it been since the lateness began? A month? Perhaps two. John knew that his boyfriend was not doing anything unfaithful, as he had gotten discreet calls from the main office of Alexander's workplace to say that he was insisting on staying for a bit longer almost every night; besides which, John knew that his lover tended to overachieve. Working was one of his favorite things to do. Nonetheless, John did not like the absence of his boyfriend. It felt like he only saw him for a few hours a day lately, and it always made him feel incredibly deprived.

Alexander Hamilton, on the other hand, felt like he was a bit work deprived. While the phrase "work deprived" definitely did not apply to him (he worked nearly fourteen hours a day, not including overtime), he would never complain if he had more hours to work. The man barely slept as it was. He was a strong intellectual, even on bad days, even on exhausted days; on good days, rested days, he was so much more: a poet, an author, a dreamer. Nevis, his past country and a constant thought on his mind, was a beautiful sight on a good day as well, but it was not somewhere for someone like Alexander. Someone bold, outspoken and correctly opinionated. A wanderer at best who had landed himself in New York City after high school, Alexander, who stood at a lanky five foot seven, had somehow gone on a journey to Hell and back to receive the internship offer that he had, and then the job that came afterwards. Both had been, quite literally, absolutely everything to the scholar-to-be; the whiskey brown of his eyes had been fixed on the modern American worker's dream for too long to recount. And, now, here he was, brunet hair pulled back as he walked himself through his workplace on the heels of his coworkers, employee ears on.

It's always said that running away from your problems isn't a wise choice, but Alexander ruled firmly that he would be the judge of that himself; thus, he landed himself in New York. Nevis was somewhere he couldn't wait to leave behind; the death of his dearest relatives and the abandonment of his father, the violent natural reminder of a devastating hurricane, the flawed structure of what was said to be "democracy" but clearly had several issues. Alexander was ready to escape. He had been ready for a long time. Being in New York was scary at first, but it wasn't an issue for too long. He had met John Laurens, a man only three months older than him, under the neon and chrome that complimented the busy city streets, and they had become friends exceptionally easily. Alexander considered himself plenty lucky to not only have escaped Nevis, but to have met someone so special to him as well. It was safe to say that, after one year of knowing each other, Alexander and John become lovers; only after one more year, they moved into an apartment together.

Before his job opportunity, Alexander found himself placed inside of a law business on the left side of New York City, an intern under the authority of Washington. He had attended college briefly at John Jay College Of Criminal Justice, where he had applied for his internship and had been accepted. However, when he moved in with John there was a halt in his studies, and he decided to drop out for the time being. He had attended for the entire first semester, and part of the second, planning on returning next year to resume his education and get his degree (he had not done so, yet). It was surprising that his internship was still valid since he had pressed the pause button on college, but he was certainly not arguing. In fact, it was also surprising that Alexander had not quit his internship. Work under Washington had been particularly stress free until he was recognized above the other interns that wandered the building. However, Washington seemed to take a certain liking in Alexander , and soon the young man was pulled into the main office for work under the boss's law. His job was simple: he was to write for the office and for the company as a whole, and he was to listen to Washington as he spoke on and on, seemingly endlessly. He also had to organize files and books and, basically, work as a secretary, but it didn't bother him much at first. It was a job that paid ten dollars an hour, which was well above most internships he had been offered. However stressful Alex's internship had turned out to be, it was beyond worth it in the end. The law business had offered him a well-paying job and it was work that was at least partially close to home.

Needless to say, he accepted the job offer hastily and exuberantly. 

Alexander's legs felt like jello when he had finished up with work for the day. Exhaustion crept up on him like an irritated, though long-lost, friend; by the time that he had gotten into his car, out of the parking lot, and onto the road, his eyes were begging for rest. Notwithstanding, Hamilton was relieved to go home. His boss had held him back an hour later than usual, and his phone was dead, meaning he had not told John that he would be late. The other was probably worried sick. New York City was always so busy. It took Hamilton nearly twenty five minutes to reach his apartment building, which added onto the hour he had been at work. But, in the end, he _had_ reached the building and parked in the parking lot, letting out a sigh upon doing so. He shut the car off and promptly wandered his way up to his and John's apartment.

It was a bit on the small side for two people, but it definitely sufficed. Hamilton did not complain; he shared the apartment with his favorite person in the universe, how could he complain! After unlocking the door and stepping inside, he closed the door almost silently, more worn out than he had realized before. He said, soft but loud enough for John to hear from the kitchen, "I'm home." After that, he chose to stay particularly silent, hands shaking a bit from work's aftermath as he slipped off his shoes. At least now he was able to sit down.

Alexander Hamilton, a strong intellectual, a poet, an author, a dreamer, was now moving to sit down on the couch. He buried his head in his hands and scrubbed his face slowly, the scruff against his hand reminding him to shave eventually. It was clear that he was stressed, perturbed, and affected by his job incredibly negatively, no matter how much he would refuse the fact. It didn't help him that he had been feeling particularly sick lately. The pressure in the right side of his head caused him great pain and migraines, which usually took place when he was on his way home and hit their hardest when he was greeted by John. The migraines had only been happening for a week, but they were consistent, and seemed to get worse with each day that passed. Additionally, they had been striking slightly in the middle of the past two days instead of just in the evening, so it almost raised a bit of concern on Alexander's part.

Upon his lover's greeting, John walked in slowly from the kitchen, silent as he gazed over towards the couch and at Alexander. The position of the younger's head in his hands, slouched slightly on the couch, was starting to become startling less foreign. John tried his best to not worry so much, though it was hard. "Welcome home," he greeted Alexander in return, walking further into the room and sitting down next to the other. "Work rough on you?" 

"Yeah." The response was short and truthful. Alexander picked his head up from his hands and looked at John with a bit of a squint. Was it that hard to open his eyes? The migraine was bad tonight. Its severity was even swinging a case of nausea into the smaller's stomach, and he had to use his left hand to hold it lightly, his right arm moving to wrap around John's shoulders. "Was your day all right? Don't tell me you haven't done much." His tone joking, Alexander managed a small smile, though it was obvious that he looked incredibly exhausted. 

John gave a light laugh. He knew Alexander so much better than to assume he was okay. "My day was fine," he responded, eyebrows raised and his arm moving around his lover as well, "but I honestly haven't done much. You were at work and the TV can't watch itself."

"Well. There's a record button."

"That isn't the same thing!" 

"Sure it is." 

The two were laughing together, now, and hugging each other close by two arms. However, it was not long after the laughing began that it ceased, John's loving eyes locking with Alexander's. "Let's go to bed," John offered. "You look so tired lately."

"Do I?" The question was almost entirely rhetorical. Alexander knew very well how tired he had looked, and felt, for the past while. It was only a matter of time until John had voiced his concern. In agreement, Alexander gestured towards standing up, and the both of them rose in unison, arms still around each other comfortably. It was natural, though, that the dark haired man had to switch his arm from John's shoulders to his waist; the right section of his body proved to be tender, as was his stomach, something else that had been oddly occurring the past couple of days. Alexander tried his best to pretend that nothing was wrong.

John was gentle as he led Alexander to the bedroom, making a mental note of how the other held his stomach and kept his eyes marginally squinted. Something was wrong. It could have been the flu; maybe the younger did not need to be at work the next day. As they stepped into the room, still holding onto each other, John said, "Alex. Look, maybe you shouldn't be going to work tomorrow. You look really sick." He was careful as he led the other to their bed, only letting go of him and going to his own side of the bed when he was sure that he was steady. The brunet, already in his pajamas, got onto the bed and pulled the covers over his legs as he waited for his boyfriend.

Alexander gave a smirk, pulling at the tie around his neck and working it off of himself. He set it on top of his dresser. "I'm fine," he insisted. It was blatant lie. He unbuttoned his dress shirt as he continued to speak. "I feel off, yeah, but it's--"

"Work."

"-- _not_ work." His voice was unusually soft, careful, as though speaking any louder would make his head crack in two. Nevertheless, he chuckled and pulled the shirt he had unbuttoned off of his shoulders. With a few more movements, he was all the way out of his work clothes and into pajamas, and sliding into bed next to John. "I think I'm just getting a cold. I've been having sinus headaches like fucking crazy." Sinus headaches? Was he sure? Not really. He knew that they were migraines. But one mention of migraines to his boyfriend and he probably would not be going to work for a week. They could not afford that choice for a list of reasons. 

With a soft sigh, John slowly relaxed, laying down on his back and folding his hands on his own belly. "I still think you should be having some bed rest, then," he countered. 

"I promise, I'll be fine."

"Mhm." The curly haired John drummed his fingers rhythmically and softly against his belly now. 

Apprehensive, Alexander reached up and flicked the light off before laying down on his left side. Even with his head sunken into the pillow, it pounded with sickness. His  _entirety_  pounded with sickness. He pulled his lover close, shifting slightly to wrap his arms around him and press his face to his neck, trying his absolute best to relax and allow John's scent of coffee and Old Spice take the pain away.

He was awake for quite a bit longer than John.

 


	2. Chapter 2

The next few days to come were only worse for Alexander Hamilton. The man's head seemed to be enduring an infinitely looped migraine, the right side of himself only seeming to weaken further and further as his nausea became more frequent. Work became a hassle, so much of one that his boss had assigned him to desk work until further notice. The frustration that built up inside of Alexander's chest only grew and grew. Being so sick limited him. Being limited certainly was not ideal, not for a man such as himself.

John had been keeping a close eye on his boyfriend. The other's condition was obviously getting more and more concerning as each day drew to a close, and John almost felt compelled to call the hospital to set up an appointment by himself; it was apparent, by now, that Alexander was not going to. However, he avoided doing such a thing, knowing that it would cause plenty of unnecessary problems that neither of them needed in the middle of everything. Alexander appeared to be half dead and still appearing for work, though, so something had to be done before too much longer. John was beginning to worry exceedingly.

The seasons had taken a sharp turn once the month of November came about. Snow was unusual for this month, but, albeit light, it existed. It made quite the way and back to work for Alexander, who had been sent home early; the man had been doubled in his desk chair, insisting that he was perfectly alright but proving to be the exact opposite (denial seemed to be his specialty lately). It was honestly a miracle how he was permitted to drive in his condition. At least it was Friday, meaning that he would not have much for work for the next two days anyway. It was less stressful for him to willingly take himself home this way.

John Laurens was sprawled on the couch when his lover came stumbling through the door. He was quick to stand and walk over to him, incredibly nervous at his earliness. Was this urgent? It had to have been. Alexander would not have left work otherwise. “What’s wrong?” was John’s immediate question. It was just a placeholder, however; he knew that the other was sick, he had know for a while now. “This is you being sick. Alex, you need to be in bed, no more work until you’re better. I can’t believe I let you out of the house.” A bit irritated with himself, John reached up and felt Alex’s forehead--which, strangely, proved to be a normal temperature--before burying both hands in his hair gently. He leaned down to press a kiss to his forehead. “Please. Go to bed,” he practically begged.

Alexander had his eyes closed from the moment he felt the larger hands in his hair. He leaned into the kiss and sighed. “I’ll go to bed,” he agreed, something that was uncanny for himself. His tone was unsettlingly quiet, and overtaken by the Virgin Islands accent that he tried so hard to cover up. Usually, his accent was well-hidden, but lately it had been as obvious as his quietness, probably due to a complete lack of energy. He slid his shoes off with ease and finally opened his eyes once more, finding the reintroduction to light blinding. Wincing, head pounding harshly, Alexander reached for one of John’s hands. John, of course, accepted his hand tightly, holding onto it as if for dear life.

Holding Alexander steady was easy, but nerve wracking. The doctor needed to be called. John’s lips were curved into a deep, deep frown, and, quietly, gently, he said, “C’mon, Alex. I love you.” He didn’t expect a response. Just as he had the other night, he led his boyfriend across the apartment to their bedroom and laid him down in bed. He had tucked him in safely before saying, “Please tell me you’re okay with me calling the doctor.”

The doctor. Alexander moved his left forearm to rest over his closed eyes, sighing heavily in the process. “This is just the flu--”

“No,” John said, his stance firm though loving, “this isn’t. You can’t--have you noticed how sick you’ve even been? It doesn’t seem like you have any energy left in you. I’m scared.”

Alexander was silent.

This gave John an opening to continue. “I’m really scared. You haven’t noticed because you work your ass off almost every day. Please, I’m asking you please. Let me call the doctor.”

While John stood next to Alexander, who was tucked into bed, silence flooded the room in a matter of seconds. The atmosphere grew exhausted and desperate, much akin to the young man who assumed he had a flu. Slowly, as if he would regret it, Alexander said, “Yeah, John. You can call.”

John’s heart eased up on its nervous pace. He said, “Good,” reaching down and combing the sick’s hair back with his fingers. “Please rest. For me, if not for yourself. I’ll try to get an appointment in for tomorrow.” Again, there wasn’t a response coming from Alexander, and John knew this well; so, after leaning down and pressing a kiss to his lover’s head, he left the room, closing the door as silently as he could manage.

* * *

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

The doctors appointment had been made and attended. Alexander, against his will, was on sick leave from work, told by Washington to, “Come back when Mr. Laurens finds it suitable.” Of course, this left the caribbean man increasingly bored after he had left the hospital with nothing but a prescription. 

“I told you I was just fine!” Alexander boasted, his medicine in hand as John escorted him to the car. “An orange bottle of feel-betters. That’s all.”

John refrained, all but slightly, from rolling his eyes, a pleasant smile on his face. He was glad that there was nothing seriously wrong with his boyfriend, but, for God’s sake, the man was still very sick. Nonetheless, it was better to see a smile on Alexander’s face than nothing at all. Helping him into the car, John responded, “Watch it. Bet you’ll get sicker if you keep bragging about it.” 

November’s snow had begun to melt already. It was an honest rarity that it had snowed to begin with, so the fact that it had already begun to fade away was not that large of a shock. The sun was shining over New York City as it always seemed to; John was incredibly glad for this. It made for a nice day, which added onto the nice realization that his boyfriend was free of serious illness. Still, despite the observations that had been made, John found himself incredibly wary of moving on with the times. Alexander was told that he was perfectly fine and healthy, and that there should be nothing to worry about in the future. But what if that was a mistake? Even as they got into the car and buckled up their seat-belts, John could see with only a glance that his boyfriend’s eyes were unfocused and his face was slightly screwed with the aversion of nausea. He could only pray that the medicine would work.

“Lafayette texted me. Wants us and Hercules to go to the bar tonight,” John continued as he pulled the car out of the parking lot. The ride home was a good fifteen minutes, so they had time to discuss any plans they might have had for the night. “I told him  _ you’re  _ still sick as a dog.” Laughing softly, he winked to indicate his jokingness, glancing at Alexander before he looked back to the road.

Alexander laughed as well. “Tell him I’m  _ not _ ,” he said, “and that we’ll be there. I don’t have work until you let me go back, apparently, but I think Washington will break before he lasts a week without me to organize his pamphlets and shit.” It was true; the young Hamilton tended to be the favorite at his work place. In no way was Alexander complaining about that, he simply liked to speak of how important he was to the business. In whatever case, a night out with the boys seemed like the best “get well” present Alexander could ask for. Sure, he was still a bit sick, his reasoning for the medicine bottle that now laid on his lap, but he would be fine for a few drinks. He had not seen either Hercules or Lafayette in what felt like ages. Seeing them would have been incredibly consummate. 

Quizzically, since they were at a stop light, John turned a bit to look at Alexander. His expression was incredibly whimsical. “I dunno. Do you think you can handle a beer right now? God knows your a lightweight as it is, you’re going to be getting sick after the first sip.” 

“Oh, huh, are we talking about lightweights? Because you’re basically delirious after a couple of pints. You’re  _ talkin’ _ to a guy that can handle triple of that and not even be tipsy.”

“That’s the biggest lie I’ve ever heard.”

“Uh huh. Right.”

The two of them bickered playfully as the light turned green, John’s eyes shifting back to the road. Cars zoomed past them from different lanes, though the cars in front of them seemed to move entirely too slowly. Traffic jams occurred without break in New York City, so John was a little more used to this than he would have liked to admit. It was how he stayed so calm. Notwithstanding, he honestly loved to sit and relax as cars moved like they had nowhere else to be, either his radio turned up or his boyfriend running his mouth. Right now, neither was occurring, so the curly haired brunet quickly said, “Hey. I know you just took the first pill before we left the hospital room, and I know that was only…” He took a fast look at the clock. “Like, ten minutes ago. But do you feel any better?”

Did Alexander feel any better? Alexander himself pondered the question. His migraine had been switched out for a duller, though still apparent, headache, and instead of feeling his right side tense up with pain it stayed practically numb (a slightly concerning feeling, though he tried to ignore it). His nausea was still active, but he had, after all, only taken the pill a little while ago. He hoped that his condition would improve more. “I don’t think I’m feeling a bit better  _ all  _ because of the pill yet,” Alexander answered honestly, “but I’m feeling kind of better. Maybe it was a placebo effect, ‘uh?” 

“Nah, what, don’t even say that!” John was laughing again. He hoped that it was not just some sort of placebo effect; his boyfriend being happy and healthy is what he cared about over most everything else. There was nothing in the world that he would trade Alexander’s good health for. 

The car ride was soon drawn to a close, and the two young men were silent, one out of sickness and the other out of thought. John had shut the car off but both he and his boyfriend stayed seated. “I’m glad you’re okay,” John said softly, reaching over and taking Alexander’s hand lightly. “Now stay okay. All right? Already scared me once, shit.” 

Squeezing John’s hand lightly, Alexander smiled. “I’ll try my best.” 

 


	4. Chapter 4

It had taken the rest of the day for Alexander to completely convince John to let him go to the bar. John had a perfectly valid reason for insisting on staying home at first, though; Hamilton still looked sick as all Hell. Even with his new medication, he still  _ was  _ sick. But he was better than he had been in days, so what was the harm in a drink or two? That was all that the both of them could handle in the first place. Two drinks, perhaps three, and then they would part ways with their friends for the night. It was a good plan to John. 

They had gotten to the bar around eight o’clock, and were greeted with Lafayette saying, “Alex and John, thought you were ditching us, ‘uh!  _ Bon de te voir _ .” Fluent in French, Alexander found himself grinning and giving Lafayette’s arm a small nudge. Hercules Mulligan was sitting upon the bar stool next to Lafayette, his attention switching from the pretty woman next to him (who seemed to take quite the liking in him) to Alexander and John. 

“Look who showed up,” Hercules said, his words mirroring Lafayette’s in a way. “Y’know, you almost missed out. ‘Bout to throw the biggest fucking party this bar’s ever seen.”

“You sure? Pretty sure the four of us are a bit incapable,” Alexander joked, the grin on his face only growing.

“Hey, that’s not very  _ optimistic  _ of you.”

“What is this, Herc’s word of the day?  _ Optimistic _ ?” 

“Ah, now you’ve got Alexander talking about  _ words _ ,” Lafayette joined, “ _ bon aller _ .”

John was quiet for the time being, eyes locked on his boyfriend as the trio laughed together. This was...nice. It was a bit foreign, considering how Alexander was usually either sick or too wrapped up in his own work to do anything else, but still nice. Maybe if Alex’s face had not been so drained out right about now…John shook his head. If Alexander was laughing, seeming to feel better, wasn’t that what mattered? He needed to stop obsessing over this and have a good time. The other three were all sitting on barstools now, so John joined them happily, eyebrows pointed inwards with worry nonetheless. 

 

Everyone had had a beer or two (except for Hercules, who had somehow pulled off a staggering four beers) when the first hour ended, and the party was nowhere near the biggest this specific bar had ever seen, against the now-drunk Hercules’ prediction. Still, it was wonderful, and the four of them were glad to be in the same place at the same time for once. Alexander was finding himself a bit nauseous, but that was incredibly typical for himself lately; thus, he was only on his second drink, keeping it tight in his hands. John and Lafayette were simultaneously on drink number three, but they drank water in between to be smart, unlike Alexander and Hercules, leaving them anything but drunk.

The clock was beginning to tilt towards nine thirty when Alexander began to feel sicker. His head was letting a familiar  _ pound-pound-pound _ slam the right side of his head, the aftermath of the pain hitting the right side albeit in a dull way. It was nothing that he hadn’t dealt with before, so he, instinctively, ignored the pain, finally finishing his second drink but not ordering another one. Both Lafayette and Hercules gave him playful complaints, but John gave him a concerned expression, eyes inspecting Alexander in a nervous way. Nonetheless, everyone went back to what they had been doing: having fun. That was what this night was supposed to be about.

Nine forty five had arrived when Alexander was hit with a heavy wave of dizziness. He had to grab the edge of the bar and hold on like grim death to keep himself from swaying himself off of his bar stool. Vision practically doubled, the man let his head fall down to the bar surface, eyes closing. Since he had gotten sick, Alexander had never seen double, nor had he ever felt this goddamn horrible. Even he was admitting that something was wrong now, and he almost wished that he could take all of his medicine at once and have whatever was wrong with him become instantly cured. Unfortunately, medicine didn’t work that way, and Alexander would have to keep on taking one pill a day until he felt better.

Alexander had his head down and his eyes closed for an extraordinary amount of time; when he picked his head up a little, opened his eyes, it was ten twenty and John Laurens was sitting next to him. John rubbed his back, eyes focused on him tensely. “Alex?” he asked, and when the other’s head was completely up he gave a sigh of relief. Relief, however, did not last long, Alexander’s eyes swinging back and forth between diplopia and focus and his body swaying unsteadily. “Alex,” John repeated, moving his hand to hold Alexander’s shoulder to keep him balanced. He looked around for Lafayette and Hercules, and when he spotted them he beckoned them over desperately. 

“I’m fine.” Alexander’s voice was in a slur, not from the alcohol but from his physical state.

“No, you’re not,” John said under his breath to the man, just before Hercules and Lafayette were on either other side of Alexander. “We’re gonna get you out of here, okay? I’m taking you home.” 

After explaining the situation, briefly and incredibly quickly, John told Lafayette to support the other side of the sick man, and he did so. On the count of three they stood him up. Hercules kept a hand on Alexander’s back to further support him, and, slowly, the three men escorted Alexander through the crowd of the bar. All the while, John’s mind raced with apprehension. Was the medicine backfiring? Were there side effects they they did not know about? No, they would not have been this severe. They shouldn’t have been, anyway. Alex was barely able to walk straight, the other three having to direct him slightly every other moment until they were outside and next to John’s car. 

“Feel better,” Lafayette said, giving Alexander’s back a gentle pat before letting go of him. 

“Yeah, shoulda drank some more water. You’re such a lightweight. Man, only two drinks? Weak.” Hercules was drunk, but lighthearted and playful as anything. He patted Alexander’s shoulder in the same mannerism as Lafayette. “Feel better, then come back out.” 

“Okay, well, till we meet again. We’ll have a contest,” Alexander joked back, although wearily. 

When all was said and done, John, Hercules, and Lafayette conversed in a tight circle for a moment, though it was not like Alexander would have processed much even if they were shouting. His head was spinning, arms folded against the car and face pressed against his arms, and he shook wildly. Whatever was going on with him had to stop, and fast. At this rate, he was not going to be at work for at least a month, seeing as that was about as long as John would be keeping him in bed. For once, Alexander found himself not able to find the energy to protest the idea. For once, he kept quiet.

Lafayette and Hercules parted ways, taking themselves back into the bar while John and Alexander stayed standing by the car. Truthfully, John was fearful to touch his boyfriend anymore, scared that one caress was all it would take to break him into a million pieces. “All right. C’mon, in the car,” he said, voice hushed. His arm returned around Alexander, who kept his arm around John’s shoulders in return, and he lead him to the passenger side, making sure that he was safely inside the car before moving to the driver’s side. The brunet got inside and started the car up. “We’re laying down when we get there, it’s been a long day.” 

Firmly, Alexander responded, “John, I’m okay. I wish we could stop worrying about me for a minute, a  _ second _ , please.”

“You know,” John countered, equally as firm, “it’s a little hard to do that when you can’t even stand up straight.”

The both of them sat still and silent. John turned slightly in his seat so that he could return Alexander’s stare, which was fuzzy compared to John’s far-too-clear gaze. All of this fretting was stressing Alexander out, but what was John supposed to do? Leave him to be sick on his own? No, John refused to do that, he didn’t want to isolate his lover and make him do anything alone. If he did not take extra steps to take care of Alexander, who was going to? Certainly not Alexander; the man cared more about work and John Laurens than his own health. 

As Alexander sunk back in his seat, resting his head back and closing his eyes tight, John shifted the car into “drive” and faced forward again so that he could start for home. “I love you, Alex.”

“I love you, John,” Alexander responded, hushed like John had been when they were outside.

Home was close, but it seemed like such a long drive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so basically alexander is feeling sick as fuck again? poor boy


	5. Chapter 5

For the next two weeks, Alexander was a prisoner to the world of a prescription drugs and bed rest. It was apparent that he was anything but a devotee. There was no work to go to, no tasks to be done, and the only way he kept himself productively busy was writing in his poetry journal from under the safety of his covers. Mostly, he wrote about how he felt, and on one page he had scribbled “John Laurens is absolutely wrong for not letting me go to work,” to which John laughed and corrected to, in his own blue ink pen, “John Laurens is absolutely ~~wrong~~ right for not letting me go to work.”

The medicine had seemed to work at first, but its helpfulness became nonexistent hastily. This, of course, was to Alexander’s complete dissatisfaction, leaving the man nearly delirious with head pain. Opening his eyes was hard, and the hard focusing left him nauseous. Eventually, he couldn’t write anymore, all of his focus locked on over-the-counter medicines and the (extremely) dim screen of his laptop. John had to have told him about a million times to not Google his symptoms, but that alone did not stop him. He clicked away most days, and on the days that he didn’t he was reading. Hamlet was a piece he kept on his and John’s nightstand, and he always bookmarked his favorite spots to read over and over again when he was finished reading through it completely each time.

But besides reading, looking up his symptoms, and writing about his physical and emotional state, Alex’s favorite part of every day was late in the evening when John would come in and lay down with him for sleep.

It was the beginning of Alexander’s third week of medication when he had run out of pills. It was not like it made much of a difference, though; the pills were not doing a lot for him in the first place, aside from making him constantly drowsy. John, dressed down to pajamas now, was sliding into bed next to his boyfriend when he noticed the exhaustion in the slightly younger’s face, and he could not say that it did not raise some concerns. They had scheduled another doctor's appointment that was to take place the next day, and, somehow, John felt like he was more nervous than Alexander.

The curly haired man had made his way under the covers, kissing Alexander’s cheek and taking one of his hands. “You ready for tomorrow?” he asked him. He rubbed his thumb against his reassuringly. Sure, he had thought he was more nervous than Alexander, but as he looked closer at his lover’s expression he could see that that was clearly not the case. Alexander appeared far-off, expression stone but close to cracking, eyes staring at the end of the bed; his hand only held John’s lightly in return compared to John’s firm grip.

“I’m ready,” Alexander said. It was a lie.

“Everything will be okay.”

“You think so?” He looked towards John, and his gaze was soft.

John hesitated. Then, he tried to be as hopeful as possible. “I think everything will be okay,” he said. It was a lie.

The both of them were sitting up in their bed, their backs against the headboard and their hands connected. Their eyes were elsewhere. God, did John Laurens wish he could say something; he wished he could get a word out that would not scare the other man (whether or not Alexander liked to admit it, he got scared like every other human being did). And, God, did Alexander Hamilton wish that he was able to stop being scared, to stop being sick. He was so tired of the familiar pain in his head, and his newly (though slightly) blurred vision. With every symptom that came up, Alexander felt worse and worse, and he just wished that the medicine had worked in the first place.

He was frightened.

* * *

 

Alexander had to attend his appointment alone the next day.

Unfortunately, John had work and could not call in. He had tried to that morning, and again on the way to his workplace, in hopes that he could be at the hospital to support Alexander, but both times he was denied the luxury. Thus, he was on his way to work with a dull coffee that was not enough to quench his exhaustion. He had stayed up basically all night the night before and definitely was not used to it. Alexander had fallen asleep hours before him, and he had laid there in worry, thinking about all the scenarios for the next day at the hospital. Terrifying thoughts of bad outcomes plagued him until he had finally gotten his mind to silence somehow; though it was not enough, he had caught himself two hours of sleep.

Alexander had slept early but horridly. He woke up feeling as if he had not slept, something he did too plenty of. His eyes were still heavy by the time he pulled himself out of bed and into the shower, although the shower did redeem him slightly. John had left for work a bit before he woke up, but there was a text message in his inbox from the man that he read as he started to get dressed:

_JOHN: I went to work, Sleeping Hammy. Please text me when you wake up!_

And another:

_JOHN: Also, why did the little bear have such a good job?_

The tone was light, exactly what Alexander needed before the doctor. A pick-me-up was entirely appreciated. After the man finished putting his t-shirt on and sliding a belt into the loops of his jeans, fastening it quickly, he responded to John:

_ALEXANDER: No morning kisses means you owe me later! And why did the little bear have such a good job, John?_

Alex put his phone away with a snort. John told him this pun all the time (and many others, too) and he usually protested jokingly. Today, though, he was going to let the other have his fun, and he even found himself a bit amused. It was always nice to laugh with John even if they were in different places. Besides, Alexander desperately wanted to allow himself to relax, albeit tired and sick beyond his wildest comprehension. He had lingered in the apartment for a few more minutes, of course putting on his shoes before leaving for his car.

Once he was in his car, another text came in from John, which read:

 _JOHN: Because he was incredibly_ koala _-fied. Do you get it?_

To be frank, Alexander would not have laughed so hard if he wasn’t caught off guard by the pun (he forgot about it on his way to the car; it was stress’s way of letting him know it was still there). But he was laughing, starting the car and responding:

_ALEXANDER: I get it, and it’s absolutely atrocious! I’m going to the doctor now, each pun you send while I’m driving will cost ten kisses each when we’re both home. It’s only fair!_

_ALEXANDER: I love you, my dear John. Wish me luck._

The text was sent just before the car rolled out of the apartment building’s parking lot. Alexander waited quite some time for the next text, eyes on the road and fingers tapping against the steering wheel with nervousness. He hoped that whatever he was sick with was nothing too serious. The shower he had taken before helped make his head feel a little bit better, but his migraine was still significantly strong. Trying his best to ignore it and focus his vision on the road, Alex only read the next text he had received when he reached a stop light:

_JOHN: Good luck, my Alexander. I love you too._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> definitely a super short chapter but here u go sinners have some of this


	6. Chapter 6

The doctor’s office was as crowded and slow as it usually was. Alexander Hamilton looked and acted like a nervous wreck, hands shoved into his pockets as he waited on the call of his name. Not often was he caught being scared out of his wits, as bravery was a succinct trait of his, but at this point he was getting stares that read, “Is he okay? What has him so scared? Has someone died?” Alexander avoided looking anybody in the eye, and in that way dodged questioning. 

A text flooded in before any sort of nurse called the nervous wreck’s name for his appointment: 

_ JOHN: My little lion, how’s the doctor? Is it going well? _

Alexander felt relief wash over him. It was funny, how little words John could say while still making the caribbean man feel better. He responded:

_ ALEXANDER: I’m still in the waiting room. I swear, every person in New York City is sick today. But hopefully it won’t be too much longer. I already can’t handle not lying down. This is the worst. _

Alexander sighed and put his phone back into his pocket. It would be another long wait until he was called into his appointment, but when he was he could feel every bit of fear palliate from his features. This was for the best. He walked with the nurse back to his designated room and sat down in the chair, letting her do vitals before being left alone. 

This was the worst part: waiting for the doctor.

* * *

 

On John’s side of the coin, the day was moderately easier. He worked as a veterinarian on the eastern side of New York City and was a fine worker. The shop he worked at was small, but well-known and cozy, which led to all sorts of business at any given time. Personally, John loved working at his job, and not just because he made a good amount of money. Mostly, he loved the animals that came in, his passion having always laid in that area. 

John had been taking day shifts for the past few months. He used to stay as a night employee, working with the animals overnight and taking care of the ones that stuck behind, but when things began to get hectic at home he could not afford staying late. For (prime) example: Alexander had begun to stay late at his own job, and John could not afford to leave the house alone for all of that time. There was dinner to be made, cleaning to have done. While John could have protested Alex working so damn much (he worked night  _ and  _ day shifts, primarily), he did not think that it would be of any use. His boyfriend was an honest stickler when it came down to working at his job. There was no stopping him.

The veterinarian shop had been quite busy, but as lunch hour rolled around people scattered for restaurants instead. While John was sure that service would pick back up in the next couple of hours, he also hoped that the animals of NYC would stay healthy. Besides, he wanted to be alert for his phone, desperate to know what was happening on his boyfriend’s end. Alexander had been called out of the waiting room and into the real doctor’s office about an hour and fifteen minutes ago at this point, and it was nerve wracking that he was not answering any texts that were sent his way. John figured it was rude to take his phone out in the doctor’s office, but, still, he couldn’t help but feel a bit high-strung. 

There were so many scenarios playing over and over behind John’s eyes, all of which distracted him from his current responsibilities (which made the fact that he did not have any customers right now good). What if Alex was sick with something serious? Or what if he was working himself into a literal early grave? John didn’t want to think about it, but he could not stop himself. It was inevitable. The stress and worry that was forced onto both himself and his boyfriend would (hopefully) be solved by the time Alexander was out of the doctor’s office, and it was leading to a lot of taut curiosity. Finally, though, John’s phone buzzed with an incoming text, and he could not stop himself from practically leaping for his phone:

_ ALEXANDER: I’m out of the doc’s. They did a lot of tests. _

John responded immediately:

_ JOHN: And? What’s going on? _

He set his phone down when he did not receive an immediate text back, hands shaking as though they were brittle. His fingertips of fall leaves hovered over his set-down phone screen to ready himself for the response he was to get. This was it; he was about to figure out what was going on, what was so horrible, why Alex was so sick. He hoped that--

In came another text.

He read it with lightening speed:

_ ALEXANDER: They don’t know. They’re gonna call me with test results soon. _

John could admit to his heart practically stopping in his chest. What was that supposed to mean? Was that good or bad? The sooner they got the test results back, the better, John knew that much for sure. 

_ JOHN: Well, alright. I bet everything’s okay, alright Alex? I’m going to buy us coffee after work. I get out in a few hours, if you just wait at home for me I’ll be right on my way. _

_ ALEXANDER: Yeah. Sounds good. _

A few hours would hopefully fly by quickly. John wanted to see his boyfriend. He wanted to hold his hand and hug him close, perhaps convince him, even if just for a while, that things were going to work out in their favor. God, he hoped things worked out in their favor. 

The last few hours at work were the longest hours in John Laurens’s life.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains mentions of cancer.

“Alex, maybe them not telling you the test results right away is a good sign.”

The cafe they had chosen to visit during the late afternoon was close to vacant. Wooden benches lined the walls and stood opposite to the grey ordering counter, where Alexander and John were speaking in hushed voices. They had ordered already and knew that they would get their coffees fast, so they simply stood where they were, patient and impatient all at once. Broadway carried some of the best coffee shops in the state of New York and some of the worst, but they had chosen one of the best ones, one with kind employees and a warm venue. It was John’s favorite. Alexander only went out for coffee when his boyfriend trailed alongside him, though, so he was only somewhat familiar with the place. It was in his memory that it was a cozy little cafe.

“John. Have you ever had tests taken?” Alexander countered softly, his head still too tender to raise his voice. He hoped that the phrasing did not sound rude; he meant what he said with the best of intentions. “The doctor needs time to process the results. They could get back to me in one hour or one month, it all depends.”

“On what?” John asked, genuinely curious.

“On whether it’s good or bad?”

The statement had been drowned in confusion, and John knew that well. He knew that Alexander was guessing at this point, and, fairly, he did not blame him one bit. There had been a guess or two coming from his own end. Their coffees were brought to the front counter, and John nodded a “thank you” when he and Alex took the cups, paying for what they had gotten and smiling lightly at the employee before leading his boyfriend to one of the wooden benches. Perhaps sitting for a little while and having a coffee would take at least a little bit of stress off of the day.

John was seated across from Hamilton comfortably. A sip or two drawn from his coffee, he kept his eyes on his love, who looked somewhat not present. As it was, Alexander had become significantly neglectful towards himself, more so than usual; the scruff that lined his face was getting heavy, hair pulled back into a ponytail to reveal how sunken his face had become. John frowned at this. However, he did his best to not stare, as he did not want to make Alex uncomfortable. “When we go home, we’ll put on some TV and read a book,” he suggested.

Alexander had been spacing off, but the sound of John’s voice snapped him back to reality. He blinked hard before responding, “I’ve gotta catch up on Law and Order. I’ve missed every new episode for the past month thanks to bed rest.” The air around them seemed to relax, now, just for a little while. The younger sipped his own coffee.

“And that’s for the best.” John could not help but grin a little bit, noticing Alexander’s own small smile. “You don’t even watch, you just yell at the courthouse through the screen.”

“Someone’s gotta.”

“Go to college!”

“Been there, done that!”

The two of them found themselves laughing, and it felt sublime. John leaned forward towards the table more and let his eyes wander from his cup to the man in across from him. Even while appearing sickly, Alexander Hamilton was incredibly handsome. He had a strong jawline, focused brown eyes that were constantly filled with emotion, perhaps more emotion than John could have ever dreamt to feel for himself; his hair was shoulder length and dark, framing his olive face in the most perfect of ways (though, right now, it was pulled up, a couple strands of brunet sneaking out from his elastic). It was true that he had dark, dark circles under his eyes, the look of absolute exhaustion dug deep into his features, and shaky hands, but John Laurens could not find any of those things to make his boyfriend look any less handsome.

Oops. Was he staring?

Alexander, catching John’s eye and grinning wider, said, “See something you like?” Another chuckle radiated from his chest. He loved when he caught John looking at him so lovingly; it gave him a sense of security. Oh, if _John_ felt lucky to be with Alexander, it was hard to imagine how much luckier Alexander felt to be with John. A man with a heart of gold and a love for animals (specifically turtles, which was much to Alex’s amusement), John always tried to be both a best friend and a lover, and was always successful. He was smart, tactical, and funny all at once, his sense of humor always present. And, just like Alexander, he was incredibly handsome. Freckles spotted his face and shoulders generously, and medium long curls graced his head, dark and indifferent when it came to whether they appeared to be dark brown or black. Alexander enjoyed playing with the older’s hair constantly; his curls were incredibly soft to touch, after all.

“I do,” John answered. His phrase was short and simple. He could see that Alexander was smiling, but at the same time his eyes were crinkled unhappily, an indication of unmentioned pain. It did not surprise John at all that his lover was pretending to be all right, but, still, he sighed at the action. Hesitantly, he gave the middle of the table a pat, taking a long sip from his cup again. “Let me know when you’re done, okay? We’ll go home and rest. You gave today your best _shot_.” A coffee pun. An espresso pun.

Alexander groaned. “That was abysmal.”

“Really? I liked it a _latte_.”

“This is horrible.”

“Stay _grounded_ , I’m not done yet.”

“ _Please_ be done.”

“Well, guess I better stop. My jokes weren’t meant to _bean_.”

John Laurens was a lover of puns. Sometimes, it drove Alexander out of his mind, but not in a bad way. He found himself trying his hardest not to laugh at them sometimes--“Don’t encourage those,” he would always say, especially to Lafayette and Hercules, two of many who urged John to say pun after pun. Of course, they would still encourage him.

Finishing up what he had left of his coffee, Alexander nodded, realizing that John had finished some time before him. It was not mentioned out loud, but he did feel a bit worse now than he had at the doctor’s office; he wanted to lay down. “Let’s go home,” he said, sighing lightly through his nose.

With a nod, himself in full agreement, John stood up. Once his boyfriend did the same, they threw their empty cups into the trash, took hands, and began to make their way back outside.

* * *

 

For about a week, Alexander obsessed over his phone.

He checked his notifications about three times per five minutes, desperate for any word of returned test results. In his entire life, he had never worried this much over something, and was unsure of what to do with himself as a result. Mostly, he stayed in bed, a request that John had given him to do if nothing else. He would lay in bed and read, like he had before, but instead of searching his symptoms on the web he spent his hours with his eyes locked on his phone screen. The largest hope in his heart was that somebody would give him some sort of phone call. Any sort of phone call.

When he was at the kitchen table for dinner with John every night, one of the only times he had to leave the bedroom, his phone would be next to his plate, brown eyes secured on the screen. John watched this and always felt compelled to say something about it. But he did not, instead staying silent as his boyfriend pondered and worried. It was not like John wasn’t worried, because he was; it was simply that he felt no need to interfere. This was a natural reaction and he was not shocked that Alexander was obsessing over the upcoming results. Hell, he would have acted the same if he were in his situation. That was exactly why he refused to interfere, though; as much as he hated seeing Alex so stressed out over this, he could not imagine how it felt to be in the other’s shoes let alone try to stop him from worrying about the test results.

John did, however, try to make things a little lighter for his boyfriend. A few nights during that week, he made a big dinner and they had a night full of movies. Other nights, he would suggest going out on some sort of date, all of which were gently denied by Alexander (John knew that he meant no harm; it had come to a point where not even Alexander pretended he could go out and about as normal). All in all he did make a significant difference in Alexander’s feelings; he got him to feel a little bit happier, at least.

It was a late Friday evening when Alex’s phone buzzed furiously on the table, interrupting his nightly dinner-for-two with his boyfriend. Eyebrows furrowed, he grabbed the phone and inspected the number rapidly, realizing that it was the doctor he had been waiting to hear from. He instinctively looked up at John with every bit of fear he had ever had written in his expression. Panic spiked his eyes like knives, mouth twisted into a dismayed frown, and it was obvious to John that he had not been this scared in a long, long time. This was it. The moment they had been waiting for. Alexander, not wanting to upset the other, pushed his chair back and stood up. He answered the phone and brought it to his ear. “Hello,” he greeted, not taking the time to look back at John before he rushed for their bedroom, closing the door with such silence that it was hard for John to not follow.

John was sitting at the kitchen table through all of this. His hands were gripped nervously to each other, their white knuckle grip nothing of concern at the moment; his only concern was Alexander. Alexander, who was going to figure out what was wrong. Alexander, who was sick and weary, who depended on test results and medicine. There was nothing that could make John feel better except for the truth when it came. Slowly, after a few moments had passed, he stood up from the table, hands still gripping to each other as he slowly began to walk for the bedroom door. He was sure on walking inside on the way to the door, but once he got there his mind was almost instantly changed. Perhaps Alexander should be allowed his privacy for this call. This was important to him. The other probably desperately needed to be by himself right then.

The lack of speech was troubling. An array of “mhm,” “yes,” and “I see” were heard, all at different times and equally distressed. John tried to listen closer from outside of the door, to hear some before walking away, just so that he had an idea of what was going on, but all he heard after that was scared, scared pacing, and the quiet “mhms” that made Alexander sound absolutely horrified.

Things were already looking terrifying.

It was better for Alexander to be left alone, though. John buried a hand in his curls and made his way back to the kitchen, overthinking plenty as he looked around the place. It was so messy. Some cleaning up was in order, so maybe he should clean before Alexander came out with his health update. They were most likely done with dinner now anyway. His hand leaving his hair, John began to clean off the table, clearing plates and cups and setting them into the sink accordingly. He bustled about, cleaning and cleaning in a stressed sort of way, hoping to God above that everything was all right. Everything had to be all right.

Twenty minutes passed, and then forty. John Laurens had picked up the mess in the kitchen completely and moved on to the living room. The fact that Alexander had not come out of the bedroom yet was shoving him into his own panic, but he tried his best to stay calm. If something was wrong and Alexander walked into the room to see an already panicked John, there was no doubt in John’s mind that he would not find out the truth that night if it was bad news. Alex would spare his feelings and John did not want that. So, John bit his lip and switched the radio on, listening to it on a very low volume as he awaited his boyfriend’s health update.

Alexander, on the other hand, had hung up the phone just a bit ago with the heaviest heart he could ever say he’d had.

The doctor called with news of Glioblastoma.

In an instant of knowing what he had, of realizing how serious his situation became, the young man swore he was punched in the back of his head. He’d lurched, sat himself down on the bed, tried to stay calm throughout the phone call. Another doctor’s appointment was made for two days from then. Hastily afterwards, Alexander had hung up the phone and set it on the bed beside himself, hands moving up so he could bury his face in them.

Cancer.

At first, Alexander was tense. Angry. He could feel the ire build up in his chest, his stomach, every fiber of himself, and he immediately wanted to leave the apartment. He wanted to go for a long, long walk and think, get his mind cleared up, and perhaps pretend that he had not heard a single thing. Could he forget that he was not okay?

Immediately after the anger passed, grievance came. The young man rubbed his eyes and realized then that he was crying, sobbing. This was something he rarely allowed himself to do. His only wish was that John did not walk in on this, even with his back turned towards the door and his face covered by his hands. All at once, his emotions had already been punched in the gut, and he refused to let himself fall further into despair. He did not want that. He did not want any of this.

Another twenty minutes passed.

John was sitting on the couch, drawing a little bit in his sketchbook as he waited for Alexander to return. His concern was at an all time high, but he knew that he had to give the other his space. It was necessary. But not much time passed before John heard the bedroom door creak open, footsteps hesitant as they started for the kitchen (probably to check if John was still in there). John turned around to gaze over the back of the couch and caught Alexander in his vision, and--

Something was wrong. Very wrong.

He could tell that Alexander was shaking, his eyes bloodshot from something. Had the younger been crying? It could not have been anything else. John beckoned his boyfriend over with his fingers, who obediently nodded and, wordlessly, walked over to the couch. He sat down next to John and avoided his gaze, focusing his own on the floor. His hands were folded.

“What did the doctor say?” John asked. His voice was desperate, cracking slightly. A few seconds passed, and then a few more, Alexander not answering. So John continued, “Alex. What’s wrong?”

No answer.

“Alexander, please.” His hands went to hold onto Alexander’s tightly.

They were both scared out of their wits, one aware of why and one terrified in the dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a topic I've never written about, so if you see or know of absolutely any errors whatsoever please let me know! A couple of videos I have here are the basics of what Glioblastoma is, but for anybody wanting to know more I can send you some links to my references if you comment about it. Again, if I've wronged anything about the illness, please tell me right away. In no way did I ever plan for this fiction to be inaccurate and/or misleading. Thank you.
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7q4QLwF_abU  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_Rac-trV05Y


	8. Chapter 8

“You know that I love you. Yes, my dear John?”

“Alex.”

“Say that you know?”

John Laurens was shaking. He had not realized this before, but once Alexander was pulling him into his arms he became hyper aware of every little detail surrounding himself. He hugged the younger gently in return, pressing his face to his shoulder and holding onto the back of his shirt. “I know you do,” he answered, “and I love you, too.”

“I’m glad that I met you, and I’m glad we started dating.” Taking in a deep breath, Alexander closed his eyes and kept his arms around John’s lower neck and shoulders. It was taking a lot to not cry again. As much as he wanted to stay silent, to avoid more trouble than there already was, Alexander knew that the truth had to come out sometime; there was virtually no way to avoid it. He rested his head against John’s and gave his lover’s hair a short kiss. “I’m going to the doctor in two days, okay?”

“For what?”

“For more scans.” There was a pause. The air around them was inconceivably thick. “And then they’ll probably have me come back again in a few weeks, for surgery.” Alexander’s voice was hesitant, tiptoeing in a desperate attempt to avoid the inevitable.

“Surgery.” The word was mousy. John picked his head up to look at Alexander, which pushed the other’s head up as well; in each other’s arms and meeting gazes was nervously tense at this point. Surgery? Something was seriously wrong if surgery was planned already. As if John had not already been getting a bad vibe, his stomach sank, and he swallowed dryly. “What is surgery for? Tell me you’re okay.”

Alexander felt like he was at a loss. The distress that rose from his boyfriend’s expression, the panic that spiked his voice, made himself begin to feel nervous all over again himself. “I’m okay.”

Oh, and then John was moving away from the slight embrace. Why was he doing that? And then there were hands on Alexander’s cheeks, fingers brushing under and around his eyes lightly, delicately, and it was then that Alex realized that he was crying. John was caressing away his tears.

John sighed softly, on the verge of tears himself but staying stoic for the sake of Alexander. He knew that he was not okay, but it was hard to say anything in protest. His hands were trembling near wildly and his eyes were locked on his boyfriend’s (whose were averted and focused on the coffee table, understandably). “What do you want to do? We could hit the hay early,” he said softly, giving up for now. He was not going to push Alexander to tell him what was going on. He did not feel as though that was his place. Instead, he would wait for when Alexander was ready to talk about it; patience was certainly a virtue.

Early? The clock was begging for eleven forty five at night, now. It was late for John to be thinking about going to bed, although early for Alexander, so the younger man could see where his boyfriend stood on the matter. “Let’s go to bed,” he agreed. He sounded completely sure, but he was truthfully not so. There was absolutely no doubt in his mind that he would be lying awake next to a sleeping John practically all night. How could he sleep with his mind so heavy? His crying had ceased, but John’s hands still cupped his cheeks, thumbs still rubbing against them slowly, soothingly; he leaned into the touch a bit.

They had remained on the couch for quite some time before they actually stood up and began for the bedroom. It was so late, but it was honestly no matter; John did not work for the next four days, and Alexander was out of work on paid leave. Sleeping in was ideal. The amount of time that John had off of work, additionally, would allow him to be at the hospital with Alexander when he was to go, which was relief times a million. This time around, he would be able to hold his hand, kiss his cheek, comfort him in ways that he could not the last time he had gone. It would be different. While the situation gave no signs of calming down or becoming even remotely comfortable, John knew that he could at least try his best to bring his boyfriend a happier state of mind.

He could at least try.

Their bedroom was silent once the lights were flicked off, though they did not fall asleep. Instead, they laid down next to each other and faced each other. There was light from the streetlamp outside of their window spilling softly into the room, the warm white luminescence just barely resting against Alexander’s tired, tired face and allowing John to dimly inspect his features. Alexander looked like he had not slept in days, exhausted eyes dug into the sunkenness of his countenance; his lips were obvious victims of being bit constantly out of dismay while his eyebrows were practically stuck in their worried position, creased and unsatisfied. It was safe for John to say that Alexander had not looked this way in a long, long time. He refused to say anything about how he looked even so, the cars that occasionally zoomed past the apartment building making up for the silence.

Alexander appeared calm at that given moment, but he was not. His mind was racked, flooded with too many thoughts for him to focus on only one. Did he have the chance of dying? Was he _already_ dying? How long has the cancer been in his body? Could the doctors treat this before it got any worse? How rapidly was the cancer growing, and how terminal was it? There were questions upon questions upon questions. With these questions, with each one that would unfold, Alexander would feel his chest ache, his stomach spike with nausea and panic, eyes filling up with a sort of weakness that he used to never display before. It was only when he began breathing sharper, when John moved his hands to hold his cheeks again and whispered, “Shh, shh, it’s okay,” when he felt himself cave in on himself slightly, that he came to the conclusion that he could not do any of this alone.

“John?”

At the whisper of his name, John Laurens could feel his entire being rock with unpleasant anticipation. “Yeah?” he answered, his voice locked to an equally soft tone. He moved closer to Alexander and hesitated before kissing his forehead lightly. Staying in that position, lips against his lover’s forehead gently, he awaited a response as patiently as he could. John could feel Alexander quivering, drowning in fear as they laid in that bed, but he was determined to be some sort of lifeboat for him.

Another kiss pressed to his forehead, Alexander closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. Deep breathing was currently ideal, rather than the sharp, short breathing he had fallen victim to only moments ago. It was clear that John was giving him time to think of what to say. For that, Alexander was thankful. What was he to say, and in what way? He knew that telling John was important at this point, but what could he say without scaring him? Close to nothing, the brunet was sure. His arms were wrapped around his boyfriend, pulling him closer if that were even possible. Hesitation was, presently, his folly. He overcame it with a mental shove. “Cancer.”

The word was vague, blunt, and not said how Alex wanted it to be said.

The word, also, felt like a stab to John’s heart. An almost audible gasp was pulled from his system and he pulled his head back to look at Alexander again, hands lifting to hover over the other man’s cheeks now. His worry up until this point, he realized, had been completely and utterly valid, and the worry skyrocketed with this news. One word was all it took to send John into a panic, having to sit up now to look at Alexander; petrified chills shot through his body one at a time. Words were impossible, stuck to the back of his throat with the pins of shock. All he could manage was, “You...what?”

“Cancer. They think I’ve got...cancer.” Alexander was still overcome with dread, as he should have been, and it was completely apparent in his voice.

“ _Think_?”

“Know.”

The Caribbean man had no desire to sit up with John. He hadn’t the energy. Instead, he stayed in the same position as before, eyes closed and lips finally closed in a tight line. The room around himself and his boyfriend was silent, tense, and he had expected exactly that. He had expected John to be at least somewhat speechless (for which, of course, he could not appoint blame). Slowly, Alexander adjusted to lay more comfortably on his side, blindly reaching a hand over for one of John’s. John obliged immediately, taking his hand with both of his and holding it tightly. At this point, he was not sure who was whose anchor, or if they both were each other’s.

They were both afraid to speak as the clock grew older.

It was obvious to John that he could not say _nothing_. It was so much worse to say nothing. “I...love you. I’m sorry.” The words felt like they were not enough, and he frowned, hoping that Alexander knew he meant good. “I’m going to be right here for you...okay? The whole time. I’m going to come with you to the doctor’s when you go. I’m going to be right here for you.”

After John’s vow, all speaking ceased. Alexander moved closer to his boyfriend and moved his hand away from his, shifting to lay on his stomach and resting his head in the other’s lap. He wrapped his arms around John’s waist tightly. All he asked for now was some sleep; sleep, and peace of mind. Just for a little while. John let his hands bury in Alex’s hair, running his fingers through the smooth strands of brown to sooth the other to sleep the best that he could manage.

Fighting tears was hard, and fighting his fear was even harder. But he wanted to stay strong for Alexander. He did not cry until the other was sound asleep.


	9. Taking A Break

John woke up alone in his and Alexander’s bed, sprawled out on the mattress and only halfway under the covers. The fact that his boyfriend was not sleeping next to him did not process at first, though after a few moments of awakening John detected the smell of coffee and realized that Alexander was already up and ready for the day. The coffee was probably for John; Alexander did not drink it often. “Alex?” the freckled man called to the other room, voice softened with sleepiness. From the first syllable John knew that he would not be heard. That was all right; he had to pull himself out of bed anyway.

Sitting up now, John ran a hand through his mussed curls, which were plenty fluffier and messier than usual (this, for himself, was a symptom of sleeping deeply, evidence that he had moved around quite a bit). Two hands pulled his hair back behind his ears as he sighed. The clock read ten twenty in the morning and the alarm had been disabled, a clear sign that Alexander had been up in time to shut it off before it woke the older; this meant that Alexander had been up before eight thirty. John rubbed the exhaustion away from his eyes, thankful that he was well rested at the very least, and pushed the blankets the rest of the way off of his legs, standing up with a long stretch.

The scent of coffee only got stronger, warmer, as John padded outside of the bedroom and made his way to the kitchen. Perchance Alexander had just started the pot. John moved slowly since he was still affected by languor, coming to a full stop when he reached the kitchen. He leaned against the doorframe while he watched his boyfriend cooking over the stove, a little fraught with a cause of “oh, no” but choosing to keep quiet. It was known that Alexander Hamilton was not the best cook in the world and could qualify as the worst, which was the entire reason why John did all of the cooking. But the man was doing a sweet gesture, so John felt agog.

John only watched for a short few seconds before slowly stepping towards his partner. He wrapped his arms around him from the back and pressed his face to his shoulder, giving it a few soft kisses. “Morning,” he said, voice soft and low from leftover sleepiness. He kept Alexander as close to himself as possible. Last night had been rough; it was clear to John that Alex was uncannily himself though, up early and in a seemingly good mood (considering the fact that he was attempting to make breakfast), so perhaps it was a filler between bad events. John could not complain himself. It was better to see Alexander feeling happy and preoccupied than to see him obsessing over being so seriously ill. It was not like he expected him to be sad all the time. Tomorrow, they had the doctor’s appointment to attend, and once that was over they could take further action. For now, it was best for Alexander to be calm and collected, as it was best for John to help him stay that way.

“Good morning,” Alexander responded to John. His voice matched tones with his boyfriend’s, putting his spatula down for just a second to appoint his attention to the older man. “You were so tired. I shut the alarm off so you could sleep in, I figured if I didn’t you would be up and running before you had to be.”

“Mm. Thanks,” John countered. He nuzzled Alex’s shoulder gently.

“No problem, dear. Made you coffee.”

It had been apparent to Alexander that John was completely exhausted lately. It could have been from work, his hours having been long and tiresome while the sick man had been away from his own job, but Alex thought otherwise. John seemed as though he barely got sleep lately. He was working, cooking, cleaning, and taking care of Alexander in the middle of everything. Then, when he finally got to bed, the day having been exceedingly long, it seemed like he barely got sleep then. Alexander was concerned; so much concern had been placed on himself lately, but it was obvious that John needed some taking care of as well. Everyone needed taking care of sooner or later. Thus, Alexander had shut off the alarm clock and allowed his lover to sleep in, began breakfast, and made John coffee.

In whatever case, the atmosphere was more pleasing than it had been in weeks. Stress was present but extremely dull, dominated by clarity and ease. Having knowledge of Alexander’s situation was most probably at play now, the distressed anticipation of every “what if” and every made-up scenario faded to the background. Soon, they would know what they could do about what Alexander had; maybe things would end up being okay in the end. John _hoped_ that everything would work out okay.

“Ah, _ah_ , Alexander! Pay attention!”

The exclamation made Alexander flinch. His lifted his hands, stunned, allowing John to take over the spatula and push around the burning food that laid in the pan. What was once supposed to be hash browns were burnt rocks; had John not lifted his head to see what was burning, the food would have probably lit on fire. Now, John was laughing, chest pressed against Alexander’s back as he awkwardly, his own arms under his lover’s, tried to redeem the last of breakfast. It was a lost cause. Alexander started to laugh when John did, trying his best to maneuver his body away from the scene so John could actually work with what was at hand. In the end, Alexander had made his way across the kitchen to finish John’s cup of coffee, and John had cut the stovetop heat and pushed the pan of inedible food to the cool back burner.

Still laughing, cheerfulness crossing his attributes, John asked, “What were you tryin’ to _do_ with those?” He was handed a mug of very warm coffee, made just the way he liked it, as he raised his eyebrows. The reality that Alex was a very, very bad cook was known by the both of them; John liked to pick fun about it sometimes and Alexander never minded.

“I was trying to make you breakfast!” Alexander responded, amused. At least he had made the coffee correctly. He was good at coffee. It was an easy process, really, since all it took to function a Keurig machine was the ability to put coffee mix in the correct place and press a few buttons. “You think we can save those hash browns? Maybe? Maybe the middles aren’t as burnt. Let’s check.”

All the while, John lipped the word “no” and took stray sips of his coffee.

For the first time in such a long time, the Hamilton-Laurens apartment was a calm place to be.

“I love you so much,” John said, one hand holding his coffee and the other moving up to push Alexander’s hair back and out of his face a little more. “You wanna shower with me before we hop into today?”

Alexander moved his own hands to the somewhat taller’s sides and rubbed his thumbs against them. “Of course,” he responded. He leaned in a little and gave John a mellow, slow kiss on his lips, moving back to look at him once more as quickly as the kiss had begun. “I love you so much too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figured that these two needed a break from all the sad that's been going on. In any case, I'm having a great day and felt the need to give Alex and John some smiles.
> 
> Don't worry. Despair will continue in the next chapter.


	10. The Maria Reynolds of This Fanfiction (That is to Say, this is the Chapter that Disrupts the Peace of Chapter 9)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Andie, it's your fault that the chapter is named what it is. Thank you.

“Why wouldn’t they let me in with you at first?”

“I don’t know.”

“Are they going to keep leaving me out of the room for that long?”

“I don’t know.”

The second doctor’s visit had not been any less stressful than the first. John had been told to wait in the waiting room, and was only allowed inside of the test room when everything was finished up. It was only then that John was able to take Alexander’s hand, hold it tightly, and silently comfort him through the doctor’s analysis (which had been slightly worse than the night before, something that had previously been thought impossible). Surgery was inevitable and planned in two days time. This was a much closer date than Alexander had predicted feasible, as most surgeries took weeks to plan, time needed for many reasons, but he supposed that his situation was urgent.

Papers had been signed accordingly while they were in the doctor’s office, specifically a consent form. John was there by then, rubbing his boyfriend’s back and watching the younger’s signature wobble with unusual fear (something that had become a little less unusual and a little more common lately, appropriately). In Alexander’s entire life, he had never had one surgery. Not one. Now, he was preparing for major surgery, terrified out of his mind. He didn’t like the feeling of terror; it was a dark, dark cloud that liked to hide his sunshine lately. The cause of this dark cloud had taken work away from him, along with his free time. The man was practically confined to a bed. Sometimes, yes, he was about the house, cleaning and reading, showering and taking care of himself, perhaps reading a book by the window. But for the most part he laid in bed.

The only thing that had Alexander joyful was that the surgery could save his life. His vision would be returned to normal, the migraines and daily pains would be gone. Finally, he could live again. Work would be happy to see him, he was sure; he had a feeling that his place in Washington’s office was desolate and lonely. Oh, what a great feeling it would be to be back in his own work chair! He already couldn’t wait! In the same respect, however, he knew that he could not get too over-excited; if he went too far on about it, who was to say it would not turn out against him in the end? Karma was cruel so far, and he had no desire to keep on testing her.

At any rate, neither John nor Alexander found themselves pleased with anything that had been given to them at the hospital. They both wished that none of this was happening.

Inside of their own home, the cozy apartment stiff with familiar anxiety, John Laurens and Alexander Hamilton sat on the couch watching television. A blanket was draped over their shoulders. They had only gotten home no more than twenty five minutes before Hercules had texted Alexander, informing him that both he and Lafayette were going to stop over and chat for a few hours. Honestly, they had not all been in a room together since the night at the bar, and it would be refreshing; so, after John’s “of course,” Alexander confirmed that the both of them were welcome. They always were. It was always a merry time when the four of them were together, best friends being best friends together.

John and Alex had been talking about the hospital, why John was not allowed inside of the room at first, but they had ceased all conversation of doctors and hospices when their two friends were buzzing to be let inside. “That’s them,” John said with a laugh, standing up when the buzzes began to turn into a rhythm. That was definitely Hercules Mulligan down there. As Alexander pulled the blanket to himself, staying huddled under it to keep warm, John walked to the front door and pressed a button to buzz his friends inside. They would be there any second, so he unlocked the door (he knew that they would let themselves in) and sat back down next to his lover. “You’re hogging the blanket!” he exclaimed. Another swing of laughter hit him pleasantly.

“I think you should get your own,” Alexander teased, only loosening up on the blanket slightly.

“I think not. Don’t make me do it, Alex, I will.”

“Hm. Do what?”

A kiss. There was a kiss that John gave generously to Alexander, and as his lips softly pressed against Alex’s the younger slowly loosened his grip a little more. As he kissed John back, a grin taking over his facet, John took hold on his side of the blanket and pulled it to himself. It was wrapped around his shoulders, too, and closed around the both of them. This was a calm moment (one of few lately). Alexander had no protests, and was easily wrapping his free arm around his John, John using his own free hand to hold his boyfriend’s cheek. The kiss was deepened long before it was broken, and Alex leaned in to press another slow kiss to John’s lips, pulling away from that one as well with a small smile. “No PDA,” he reminded the older man, extremely amused, “not while those two are here.”

John’s eyes were on Alexander’s lips, which were less than inches away from his own smirk. “It’s not too late to say we got busy.”

“Mm. Don’t be silly.”

Their closeness remained even when their door had been opened up. John’s hand had lowered to rest on Alexander’s shoulder, and then his arm wrapped around him in return to make it easier to turn to the door. At the sight of his friends, he felt his smile grow. “C’mon in, we’re just--”

“Oh, spare us the details!” Hercules was laughing, waving a hand at the pair on the couch. He was sure that something had been going on before he and Lafayette had arrived; he assumed, at least! “I don’t wanna hear about it! You’re being all quasi-sexual on the couch.”

Lafayette was next to raise his eyebrows, stepping inside with Hercules and closing the door behind them. “Ah, was it a bad time?” he asked, expression gleaming. “We’ll give you twenty minutes.”

“No, no!” Pushing the blanket off of himself and taking his arm away from John, as though proving that they were only watching television (he was not fooling anybody), Alexander gestured towards the other side of the couch and the chair next to it. “This was a totally non-sexual TV session. Sit, though!” His head was aching terribly and his happy mask was cracked, pressure from the doctor and the knowledge of his illness still poking at his gut, but he still tried his best to be a good host. There was no sense in worrying the others, now was there?

Nonetheless, it was a little too late to not worry them.

The very moment Lafayette sat down, he said, “So, Alexander. Are you feeling better from the other night? Still a little, hm, worse for the wear?” His hair already pulled back with an elastic, the Frenchman tightened the elastic gently, a couple ringlets springing to freedom before he could stop them. Personally, he had been concerned for his friend since the night at the bar, disquieted by the lack of word from the usually talkative Alexander.

Alexander gave the question a little bit of thought, waiting for Hercules to sit down before he chose to answer. All four of them were on the couch, and there was barely any room to spare, squeezed together without sense considering the chair. “I’ve been to the doctor,” Alex confirmed, brown eyes focused more on the now-muted television instead of his friends, a gesture of apprehension. His friends and his boyfriend collectively frowned at this.

Hercules took advantage of the quick silence. “What’d the doctor say?” His tone was gentle and open, letting the fact be known that it was okay for Alexander to not answer. Just like Lafayette, he had been concerned, and now had his hands folded restlessly in his lap. It was weird seeing Alex so spaced off and sick; even now as they sat together, the man looked just as ill and sad as he felt.

“Yeah. About that.” Looking towards John, desperate for the right words, Alexander was struck with inquietude. What was he to say now? Was he supposed to come right out with it? He knew that nobody was demanding anything, and that if he decided to not answer the question they would change the subject, but it was not like they were going to be blind to this. What would they think when Alexander came home from the hospital with no hair and stitches? They wouldn’t be dumb, nor would they be in the dark. Besides, they were his closest friends, and he loved them just as they loved him. He didn’t want them to pointlessly worry.

Oh, and now John was taking his hand, intertwining their fingers softly.

Alexander held John’s hand in return and squeezed it. His gaze was now given to Lafayette and Hercules, who looked back at him with intrigue. The pressure hit him in this moment and he could no longer meet their eyes; instead, he stared at the wall behind them. What was he to say? Where were the words? _What was he to say?_ Somehow, this had been easier the first time, the time when he had told John. His free hand shook wildly at his side while John squeezed the other hand once more. “It’s a kind of, uh. Cancer.” The way Alexander’s voice rocked was a clear sign that his energy had been almost completely drained with the short statement, about to cry. But hadn’t he cried enough lately? He tried to abstain.

The room had gone silent. Nobody spoke and nobody moved. Hercules, in a state of loose shock, looked over at Lafayette, who returned the look before they both turned back to Alexander. John discreetly beckoned the two closer, seeing their panicked loss for words, and they immediately complied.

“Oh, Alex.”

Lafayette’s voice was gentle though foreignly scared for his friend. He was the first to wrap his arms around Alexander, kneeling on the floor to do so; Hercules was quick to follow, wrapping an arm around him and an arm around John as well, pulling him into the hug. John and Alexander, in unison, pulled the hug together and completed it. The four of them simply sat where they were, partially on the floor and partially on the couch, holding each other and letting the information sink in.

“It’ll be alright, Alex. I love you.” John’s voice was a comforting whisper, kissing Alex’s temple lightly before resting his head against his.

Hercules was next to announce support. “We’ll be here for you,” he said, a hand slowly running along Alexander’s middle back.

“We love you.” Pulling the hug tighter, Lafayette closed his eyes, trying his best to process his new knowledge smoothly.

Alexander remained silent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took me a million years, but here's that chapter 10! I think this is the longest chapter yet. 
> 
> Time flies when you're having fun (writing about your faves being sad)!


	11. Chapter 11

Alex had barely been able to sleep the night before his surgery; when he did fall asleep, he had done so restlessly. Similarly, John had not slept, instead pacing the apartment and going over the game plan. There was no doubt that Alexander would be staying three days in the hospital, and there was no doubt that John himself would basically only get to see him for two of those days. So of course the southern man was distraught. If he did not have work to go to, he would have been there for Alexander before everything took place, however to his horror he was scheduled for a full day.

The universe seemed to only continue to plot against both Alexander and John without remorse.

The morning of Alexander’s surgery, the sick man was starving and his head was pounding more than usual (this was probably due to both stress and hunger). He knew he was not supposed to eat until after the procedure, but God was it tempting. John had to stop him from sneaking a snack several times. Nonetheless, Alexander eventually gave up on trying to eat behind John’s back, instead settling for nothing as he plopped down in a kitchen chair. “We’ve gotta go soon,” he said to his boyfriend, hands uneasy in his lap.

“We got some time, Alex,” John responded, sipping from a glass of water while he slumped in the chair next to Alexander’s, “don’t stress yourself out. It’s a nine thirty appointment, right?” He paused so that his lover could nod. In the process, he managed to take a quick glance at the clock. “It’s only eight fifteen right now. We’ll head there early, half an hour, okay? I promise.” Even with his anxiety buried, John Laurens looked close to horrible, messy hair and eyes that lacked proper rest. The night before had not been easy. Not for himself and certainly not for Alexander. In complete truth, the both of them looked like they had not slept in a week or more, but maybe that could be fixed once Alexander began his road to recovery. “You wanna know somethin’?” 

Alexander’s eyes, having been focused on the floor to erase any possibility of doubled vision, finally raised up to look at John. “Yeah,” he said, “I do.” Struck with fear, the younger’s timbre was gentle and hushed. There were not many things that scared him; thunderstorms, sickness, and abandonment were the only three fears that he could name off the top of his head. But the fact that he was going to be entering aggressive surgery, that, with the sickness he had, he had a high chance of dying no matter his surgery and treatments, scared him to the bone. Not once in his life did he think he was going to be plagued with cancer. Life had been marginally easy (more or less) up until recently. Why had he been chosen for something like this? Why had he, who was just getting a taste of the good life with his boyfriend, been thrust into sickness that he doubted he could handle? Those among others were questions that would most probably never get an answer.

The room had fallen silent while John thought about how to articulate his answer. Both young men were silently panicking about Alexander’s surgery. Still, John scooted his chair a little closer to Alexander’s and, after setting his glass of water down on the table, reached a hand up, tucking some hair behind the shorter’s ear. He gave him a warm smile. “I love you, and you’re pretty strong. Damn, I mean, I dunno if I would be handling this as well as you are. You’re tough as nails, man. That’s what.” The words were overflowing with honesty. John had faith in Alex, so much that he could not put how he felt into more words. He had the strongest feeling that the Caribbean man would make it out of this situation all right in the end. 

Needless to say, Alexander gave the other a warm smile in return. He ignored his raging migraine and his increasing nausea. “What would I do without you?”

“You’d live a boring life,” John jested. “All quality humor comes from yours truly.”

“You trying to say something?”

“Oh, not at all.”

Their voices were dulcet and they were practically nose to nose now, John’s hands on the back of Alexander’s neck and one of Alexander’s hands on John’s side. John shifted a little closer to press a kiss to his love’s lips that was surely returned. When their eyes had been open before, they had been orbs of anxiety, apprehension; now that they were closed, themselves leaning into each other’s kisses slowly, gently, one by one, they could feel their own shoulders relax. John’s thumbs ran along the sides of Alex’s neck lightly while Alexander’s hand was calm on the older’s sides and, for a moment, everything felt relieved. Everything felt okay. Not a worry could be brought to mind while they were so close to each other.

Alexander became aware of the day’s upcoming events just as they began to settle out of his mind. In response, he was slow as he moved away from the kisses that he and John had been exchanging, opening his eyes to look at his love and putting both hands on his sides now. “Everything will be okay,” he said, though it sounded like he was asking for reassurance rather than stating a fact.

“Everything  _ will  _ be okay,” John agreed. His eyes had opened as well. Oh, a world without Alexander Hamilton would be a dark, dark world, wouldn’t it? The older man could not imagine what he would do without his boyfriend. At least said boyfriend was getting surgery now so that their future was safe; everything was going to be great. Perhaps not perfect, but great nonetheless. “Now, c’mon. If we leave the house early enough, maybe we can go on a drive before we go to the hospital, yeah?”

“We gotta go through Times Square.”

“Hell yeah.”

For the moment, they were both happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter took me 10000000 years id like 2 thank school + family for making me 2 busy 2 sin
> 
> also if ur reading this rn thank u for keeping up w/ this whole shebang thats pretty neat of u and u deserve a gold star!
> 
> im sorry its so teeny weeny i am just very busy ok enjoy <3


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